Rvenous rants and foodie frolics

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Dirty Burger, Kentish Town

I feel slightly violated. There is one dirty burger in the hood. It’s damn dirty and it’s damn good! But let me clarify a very important equation here, the overwhelming enjoyment of this burger directly correlates with the overwhelming degree of ones hangover. And when I shuffled into this shed, in a car park, on a Sunday afternoon I was feeling pretty filthy.

The menu won’t make your already thumping head hurt with tricky decisions. There is only one choice. Cheeseburger. You might have to deliberate over crinkle cut fries or onion rings, but to keep it simple I went with both.

What constitutes a dirty burger? You unwrap the paper to find it swimming in its own filthy juices, buns already separating as it slides towards you with a cheesy grin. Giving it a squirt of tomato sauce, reconstructing the mess between my hands, sucking back my drool, I took my first bite. Turning to my friend with a mouthful of dirtiness I exclaimed, ‘Fuck this is good!’ Soft brioche bun, a thick patty of quality beef with loads of pepper, cooked medium rare, a ton of oozing cheese, lettuce, tomato and the all important pickle.

In between mouthfuls you can scoff a few crunchy crinkle cut fries with lashings of mayo and wash it all down with a chocolate thickshake. I have to warn you that the onion rings are pretty punchy. Red onion slices in think doughnut batter and covered in rock salt. If you can finish the whole serving you are a machine.

Like any hit your state of euphoria is short lived. The meat sweats had already kicked in as a dragged myself back to bed. Feeling dirtier than when I left. But somehow I think I will be back for another fix soon.